
Class Tc) 3 ^ i -5 ' 

Book._ SJo 

Goipghtl^" IlLO_ 

CJ>FyRIGHT DEPOSm 



SPECKLED TROUT 

Fishing Lines 

AND OTHER VERSE 



BY 
JAMES H. HOADLEY, D.D. 

AND 

A WORD OF ANTICIPATION 

BY 
REV. TERTIUS VAN DYKE 



NEW YORK 

THEO. E. SCHULTE 

1920 






Copyright, 1920 
by James H. Hoadley 



©C(.A570151 
MAY 26 1920 



7 



To 

Alexander C. Soper, 

and 

Mary Pope Soper, 

loyal and loving friends of a lifetime, this 

little volume is affectionately dedicated 



Written by the poet upon a blank leaf in a copy 
of "The Compleat Angler'. 

"While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, 

Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! 

Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line 

Unfolding, did not fruitlessly export 

To reverend watching of each still report 

That Nature utters from her rural shrine. 

Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline — 

He found the longest sunmier day too short, 

To his loved pastime given by sedgy Lea, 

Or down the tempting maze of Shawford brook — 

Fairer than life itself, in this sweet Book, 

The cowslip-bank and shady willow-tree; 

And the fresh mead — where flow, from every nook 

Of his full bosom, gladsome Piety!" 

William Wordsworth. 



Vli 



Wordsworth, in referring to Lord Clifford, says: 

"Love had he found in huts where popr men lie, 
His daily teachers had been woods and rills, 

The silence that is in the starry sky — 

The sleep that is among the lonely hills." 



viu 



A WORD OF ANTICIPATION. 

"P VERYONE needs that simple joy in life that 
finds its most natural expression in devotion 
to some form of outdoor recreation. Especially 
is this true of those who have great responsibil- 
ities. The man who is not in love with God's cre- 
ation may be a good man but he lacks that vital 
power which only appears in company with such 
devotion. We face the peril of becoming withered 
and musty when we forget that the wonderful 
events of the Gospel took place on hillsides and 
beneath green trees, on the lake shore and by the 
river bank under the open sky. 

Nothing is more contagious than enthusiasm, 
and no enthusiasm is more contagious than the 
sane and wholesome delight that springs from the 
simple and unconscious communion with God in 
Nature. The efficiency expert may write down the 
fisherman as ^an unproductive element in the 
social structure'. It's little the peaceful fisherman 
cares! He knows the "vital feelings of delight" 
and the "solemn glee" that are enlarging his heart 
within him, and he can afford to look on all men 
with a tolerant and friendly eye. 

ix 



I like to remember the remark of that great 
preacher and teacher^ Dr. Hugh Black, who said: 
"If you can catch a salmon you can preach a ser- 
mon". There seems to be some mysterious con- 
nection between fishing for fish and fishing for 
men. And it is not without its lesson (for him 
who is willing to learn) that so many strong 
Christian lives have been refreshed and recreated 
and wisely disciplined by the gentle^, albeit some- 
times strenuous^, art of angling. 

Being the son of my father I was born, as it 
were, with a rod in my hand and an irresistible 
instinct for a stream in my heart. And so I am 
glad to Join the little expedition that is ready to 
start out under the guidance of Dr. Hoadley, 
veteran minister and angler, to fish in the waters 
of memory. 

GOOD LUCK ! brother fishermen. A trout or 
two, a handful of wildflowers, and a bird song by 
the stream 1 

Tertius van Dyke. 



INTEODUCTION. 

'^HE unpretentious verses in this little volume 
i. were written from time to time years ago by 
a busy New York City pastor, who, from 'early 
childhood had been an ardent lover of the "gentle 
art." His earliest recollections as a bare-footed 
country boy were connected with "going-a-fishing," 
when his outfit consisted of a common string for a 
line, and a bent pin for a hook and a twig of alder 
for a rod. 

It was his good fortune early in life to have for 
his friends a few men who loved trout-fishing; and 
in the company of these ardent fishermen he spent 
many happy days in acquiring his love for the art. 

In those early days more than fifty years ago 
trout were very abundant in the streams of North- 
ern and central New York and especially on the 
boarders of the Adirondacks. 

Nearly every summer when on his annual vaca- 
tion for the past forty years, and often for a week 
or two in the Spring, the writer of these verses has 
spent many, many happy hours on the streams and 
lakes on the border of the Adirondacks where good 
trout fishing is still to be found— if one knows 
v\'hore to look for it. 



XI 



Fly-fishing was practiced by comparatively few 
fishermen fifty years ago. Most of those who 
"went fishing/^ both old and young, used the angle- 
worm for bait. As a matter of fact nine-tenths of 
the men and boys who go trout fishing, still fish 
with a worm. Far be it from me to decry this good 
old-fashioned method of fishing. Some of the hap- 
piest days of my life were spent in catching trout 
with a worm ; and by "happy days" I mean, days so 
full of intense delight and real enjoyment that one 
forgot even to eat, and the lunch that was carried 
in the pocket was either taken home, or disposed 
of on the way back, unless one was too tired to eat 
after a day^s wading through the alders. 

To the end of time there will be two methods 
of fishing for trout. Fishing with a worm, and 
casting the fly ; and these two classes have two dis- 
tinct objects before them. The great majority of 
fishermen, especially those who fish with a worm, 
go fishing for fish ; and the extent of their joy and 
satisfaction depends in a large degree on the 
"luck'^ they have, — upon the number and size of 
"the catch." Those who go for fish alone, cannot 
justly be called fishermen, any more than one who 
goes to the market to buy fish, can be called a 
fisherman. 

The enthusiastic fly fisherman is not so much 
after results as he is after the pleasure of casting. 
His delight is not fish but fishing. He is satisfied 
to get a few as a result of his skill. His fish may 



Xll 



cost him ten dollars a piece, and they often do. Ho 
is content because he has got what he went for — the 
joy of casting — plus all the other joys from com- 
munion with nature in the great fresh, exhilarat- 
ing out of doors, along the streams and in the 
woods, among the hills. Half the delights of trout 
fishing come from getting near to nature^s heart. 
The trees, the shrubs, the flowers, the mosses, the 
grass, the very stones of the brook, have a message 
for the true fisherman. There is "a sermon in the 
stones." He would not be a true disciple of Isaac 
Walton if he did not love nature and her various 
moods and sounds. The laughter of the brooks 
and the sighing of the winds, and the singing of 
the birds, and the hum of bees and insects, and the 
aroma of the wild flowers and the woods — all have 
a message for his soul; and it's always a message 
of peace and contentment, and joy, and thanks- 
giving that God has permitted him to be a fisher- 
man. . 

No man can be called a true fisherman who does 
not love fishing far better than he loves fish. To 
be a true fisherman he must enjoy and delight in 
the art itself. To be a true descendant of Isaac 
Walton he must be content and happy to fish all 
day in the rain, or wading in the ice cold brook, 
and return home at night with a very meagre 
catch — nay ! he must be so in love with the trout- 
brooks that his soul is satisfied with just fishing, 
content to fish all day and many days and have no 

xiii 



luck at all. The true fisherman is not only the hap- 
piest man but he is the most hopeful and expectant 
man among mortals. He is always sure of "better 
luck" tomorrow, or next time. He never gets dis- 
couraged or disheartened. His ardor seems to be 
fed by discouraging luck. His faith is sublime ! 
He is sure of the future. His motto is ever that of 
Browning — "the best is yet to be V 

This unbounded, unlimited hope and expectancy 
is characteristic of all true fishermen. It is especi- 
ally characteristic of the fly-fisherman. He differs 
from the worm-fisherman in many things. When 
he takes out of his case his beloved fiy-rod (made 
by such expert rod makers as the late William 
Mitchell, once so famous and well known in New 
York) and opens his fly book to inspect its con- 
tents, and oils his reel, and tests his line, in his 
imagination he is sure of getting many a rise in 
those well known pools or along those well known 
streams so dear to his heart, the next time he goes 
for his sport. He "hopeth all things." 

To hook two or three fine trout; to match his 
human skill against the instinctive efforts of the 
sly and cunning trout, — at last to land him, — 
though it takes an hour to do it — this is delight 
such as none can know who has not acquired the 
art. It is simply delicious ! 

The Eev. Dr. Henry Van Dyke, an enthusiastic 
lover of "the gentle art," has truly pictured the 

xiv 



aim of the genuine fly-fisherman in the last verse 
of his admirable poem— "An Angler's Wish." 
"Only a trout or two, to dart 
From foaming pools, and try my art ; 
No more Fm wishing — old-fashioned fishing, 
And just a day on nature's heart !'' 
^ Such a real fisherman says to the man with the 
worm, "You go ahead and fill your basket if you 
can. I will follow and whip the stream ; and tho' 
you may get more fish, you'll not get more real 
sport than I, though I succeed in landing not one- 
tenth as many as you. I'm not going for fish, — 
you are, I'm going fishing." Any true fly fisher- 
man had rather catch a few fine, speckled beauties 
with a fly than to catch a score or even a basket full 
with a worm. 

But it must not be imagined for one moment 
that there is no real joy in fishing with a worm. 
There is real joy; and every skillful fisherman who 
invariably uses a worm can testify that some of the 
happiest days of his life have been spent along the 
alder brooks, or beaver meadows. Memories of such 
days on such trout-brooks never die; — they are 
almost sacred. Isaac Walton declares — 

"The last fish I caught was with a worm." 
One of our foremost American poets. Prof. Clin- 
ton Scollard of Hamilton College, expresses per- 
fectly the "sturdy patience" and contentment of 
the persistent fly-fisherman, in his little poem — 
"The Angler" — when, in the last verse, he says : 



XV 



"Companioned by a keen desire, 
His sturdy patience does not tire; 
Through waning hours, in sun or rain, 
He smiles, content with meagre gain; 
Breathing the perfect calm that broods 
In nature's secret solitudes, 
Gleaning from river, wood and sky, 
A deep and broad philosophy/' 

The writer of the following verses has had a 
varied experience in trout-fishing, and bass fishing 
also. Pie has cast his hook in many waters. Years 
ago, the first year after the Railroad reached the 
Rangley Lakes, at Bemis, Maine, his brother said 
to him, "Will you go to the Rangely Lakes with me 
for a couple of weeks in May, as soon as the trout 
season opens, after the ice goes out?" "I surely 
will," was my quick and glad response. We were 
made comfortable at the Upper Dam Hotel. We 
fished in the famous pool under the Dam; in the 
stream of rapid water between the Lakes; at the 
mouth of one of the famous spring-brooks entering 
the lower lake ; and in other desirable places. 

Such large brook trout (salmo fontenalis) I 
never before had seen. The writer landed one with 
much difficulty that weighed four pounds and two 
ounces. Some much larger than this, weighing 
eight and nine pounds, are caught in this famous 
pool. But while the Eangely Lake fishing is phen- 
omenal, one gets no more real pleasure out of it 

xvi 



than from the trout-brooks and spring-holes in the 
Adirondacks — nor as much. 

Ten years ago I fished for trout in the Yellow- 
stone Eiver just as it leaves the Yellowstone Lake. 
So abundant are the trout in these waters, and so 
readily do they rise to any sort of a fly, cast by any 
sort of a fisherman, or no fisherman, that all the 
delight of real angling is wanting. In an hour's 
time ten or a dozen large trout were taken, two at 
a time, and both landed, which made the sport — no 
sport. It required no more skill to secure trout in 
the Yellowstone, than it did to secure them in 
Washington Fish Market, and it cost a hundred 
times as much for the trip. 

It's a good thing for any man, — especially pro- 
fessional man, — to have a hobby, — some pastime 
or sport that takes him out-of-doors into God's sun- 
shine. Golfing in these days is such a hobby, and 
this wonderful game has brought health and joy 
into many a life that formerly was shut up in an 
office or study eight or ten hours a day, with scarc- 
ely any exercise in the open air. But golfing is a 
sport for a few, comparatively, and not for the 
multitude. Fishing, in some of its various forms, 
is opened to all men, — and women too. I have met 
a few of the latter who were as skillful in casting 
a fly as any male fisherman. Some years ago the 
"pool" at the Upper Dam, between the Rangely 
Lakes used to have a goodly number of ladies in 

xvii 



the casting boats, and some of them were rewarded 
with a splendid "catch." There are scores of hob- 
bies that take you out-of-doors into the woods and 
the fields, but not one of them can compare with 
that of the enthusiastic fisherman. Fishing is a 
sort of sixth sense. Many are born with it — almost 
anyone can acquire it, if properly cultivated. 

The desire or instinct to fish is not confined to 
the fresh- water streams and lakes; the seas have 
the same lure. The fishing-boats that dot the 
waters of the Atlantic coast with their white sails, 
from Chesapeake Bay to Labrador, are navigated 
by a race of sturdy fishermen who take delight in 
even this sort of fishing, and who at the same time 
have done their full share in adding to the wealth 
and prosperity of our Nation. These fishermen of 
the sea love this life of danger and exposure quite 
as well, in their way, as do the fishermen of the 
Lakes and streams. 

A proof that man by nature is a fisherman is 
seen almost everyday on our Piers and Docks along 
the water front, or on the often over-crowded boats 
that make regular excursions in the summer "to 
the fishing banks" outside the lower bay. These 
same fishermen will sit for hours in the hot sun, or 
even in the rain, on the string-piece of the Dock, 
or along the river or shore, even though their catch 
is meagre ; and they will come back to their fishing 
day after day, often neglecting other and more 
necessary iand important work. They love it so I 

xviii 



The only experience the writer has had of sea 
fishing, or that which comes the nearest to it, was 
at the mouth of the James Kiver where it enters 
into Chesapeake Bay, between Old Point and Nor- 
folk. It was "good sport" and very enjoyable, but 
at best it could not be compared with fishing for 
speckled trout either with a fly or worm. 

The kind of fishing that approaches in interest, 
casting for speckled trout, is bass fishing with a fly, 
or with any kind of bait, for that matter. A two- or 
three-pound bass can put up the liveliest fight of 
any fish that swims in either salt or fresh water. 

For more than half a century trout fishing has 
been a favorite pastime with American clergymen, 
and large numbers have not only become expert 
fly-fishermen, but they have acquired a love for 
trout-fishing, which, in some instances, has become 
a passion. Fifty years ago the little volume issued 
by "Adirondack Murray," as he was called (a well 
known Congregational Clergyman) created quite a 
sensation and Avas read by a large number of people 
with absorbing interest. 

May it not be that one of the chief reasons why 
clergymen have become lovers of the "contemp- 
lative art," is due to the fact that fishing is an 
Apostolic pastime. It occupies a most important 
place in the New Testament, and is repeatedly re- 
ferred to in the Old Testament. It is an interest- 
ing fact that of all created things over which man 



XIX 



was to have dominion^, — the first to be mentioned 
was the fish; for in the first Chapter of Genesis 
we read — "and God said, Let us make man in 
our own image, after our likeness; and let them 
have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over 
the birds of the heaven, etc." 

May it not be possible that our Lord himself was 
an occasional fisherman. We read that on the shore 
of the lake of Galilee he invited his disciples to 
partake with him of the fish which he himself had 
no doubt caught, and had cooked upon a "fire of 
coals." They accepted His invitation to dine with 
Him, after they had brought more fish from the 
miraculous draught which they had just taken 
from the Lake, at His suggestion. We have the 
account in John 21 : 9 — 13, "So when they had got 
out upon the land, they see a fire of coals there, and 
fish lay thereon and bread. Jesus saith unto them, 
Bring of the fish which ye have now taken. Simon 
Peter therefore went up and drew the net to land, 
full of great fishes, a hundred and fifty and three, 
and for all there were so many, the net was not 
rent. Jesus said unto them, Come, and break your 
fast. And none of the disciples durst inquire of 
him, Who art thou ? Knowing that it was the Lord. 
Jesus Cometh, and taketh the bread and giveth 
them and the fish likewise." 

The Reverend Wm. K. Eddy of the American 
Mission of Sidon^ Syria, in an article by him, says, 

XX 



"As an occupation fishing has been honored by the 
selection of its followers as Apostles ; by being the 
object of Jesus' special favor on two occasions ; and 
chosen as the type of earnest, skillful, soul-saving." 
"And Jesus said unto them, come after Me and I 
will make you to become fishers of men'' Mrk.l :17. 
''■* And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not ; for hence- 
forth thou shalt catch men." Luke 5 : 10. 

The fish was an object of idolatry in the ancient 
world. The Philistines worshipped Dagon the fish- 
God, which was represented by the body of a man 
and the tail of a fish. The fish early became a 
sacred symbol to the Christians. This was due to 
the fact that the Greek word Tx^^? (fish) is 
formed by the initial letters of the four Greek 
words used in the Confession of the Christian's 
faith. Viz. : — "Jesus Christ. Son of God. Saviour." 
(TY]|aou(; XptdTO? Bsou Ylhq ScoTYjp) 

The hook and line in fishing have been used 
from remote ages. No mention however, is made 
of the rod, as fly-fishing is said to have been un- 
known to the ancients. How much they missed ! 

Every Spring as the days begin to lengthen, and 
the sun warms the earth, all true fishermen begin 
to hear the call of the trout-brooks; and as blos- 
som-time comes this call gets louder and louder 
until it is irresistible. Robert Page Lincoln voices 
"the call of the brooks" in his fine poem — "Fishin' 
Time," the last part of which reads : — 

xxi 



"Oh, it^s thus when Spring is on us, an' the 

sun is warm and high — 
It is thus when we are wishin' and when 

fishin' is our cry. 

* * * 

Dig some wums, it's time I'm fishin', 
it's 'bout time I'd wet my line ; 

I can fell it creepin' o'er me, an' 
I'm gettin' so's I pine ! 

When the ice upon the big lake 

gits all saggin' down and wet — 

Dig sum wums, its time I'm fishin' 
and its time to cure this fret !" 

Two verses from Dr. Henry Van Dyke's unsur- 
passed little poem "An Angler's Wish," expresses 
the fisherman's longing for the brooks in the 
Springtime. 

"When tulips bloom in Union Square, 
And timid breaths of vernal air 
Go wandering down the dusty town, 
Like children lost in Vanity Fair; 

* * 
Then weary seems the street parade. 
And weary books, and weary trade: 
I'm only wishing to go a-fishin', — 
For this the month of May was made !" 

James H. Hoadley. 
New York, 1920. 

xxii 



FOREWORD 

^EARLY all the "fishing poems'' in this little 
volume, and a number of the others, first ap- 
peared in The Independent, at the time when 
Dr. Wm. Hayes Warp, the distinguished scholar 
and critic, was Literary editor. The writer was 
then a young man and he was greatly encouraged 
by the fact that so able and keen a critic and 
scholar as Dr. Ward, accepted his verse for publi- 
cation. These unpretentious verses would never 
have been gathered together in this volume, had it 
not been for the urgent request of many of the 
author's friends. For the past thirty years a num- 
ber of these poems have been copied, appearing 
again and again in the newspapers throughout the 
Country, East and West. 

For permission to reprint some of these poems 
in this volume I am indebted to The New York 
Independent Corporation; The New York 
Daily Tribune, and other local periodicals. For 
this permission I desire to thank them. 

For carefully reading the proof sheets and for 
his helpful suggestions, I desire to express sincere 
thanks to my friend the Rev. Tertius van Dyke of 
New York, who, like his father. Dr. Henry van 

xxiii 



Dyke, has all his life been an enthusiastic trout 
fisherman. Most of all I thank him for the "Word 
of Anticipation" which he was kind enough to 
write for this little volume of fisherman verse. 

I am also indebted to my friend, Mk. Theodore 
E. SCHULTE of New York, the well-known Book- 
seller and Printer, for bringing out this little vol- 
ume in such an attractive form. 

J. H. H. 



xxiv 



CONTENTS 

A Word of Anticipation ix 

Introduction xi 

Foreword xxiii 

"I Go A-Fishing" 3 

A Three Pound Trout 4 

I Go A-Hunting q 

Trouting 7 

Life g 

The Fishing Parson 9 

A Trouting Idyl 1 4 

Well Doing 16 

Death 1 7 

A Liar in Weight 18 

Speckled Beauties 20 

Well Done 21 

The Fisherman 22 

De Profundis 23 

Words and Deeds 24 

Go Work Today 25 

Peace . , 26 

Satisfied 27 

Memories 28 

The Trout Rod on the Wall 30 

Rest 32 



XXV 



Lost 33 

The Woods 34 

Trouting With a Fly 35 

A Trouting Picture 36 

Take Down the Rod 37 

Oh ! Mystery of Life and Death ! .... 38 

The Bobolink 39 

The Trout Brooks Are Calling 40 

A Trouting Song 41 

A Fisherman's Scales 43 

The Angler's Longing 44 

Appendix 45 



XXVI 



SPECKLED TROUT 

Fishing Lines 

AND OTHER VERSE 



"I GO A-FISHING." 

«'Epx6iie6a xat t)[A£(? juv aot)).— John xxi, 3. 

^ MOUNTAIN brook, a shady nook, 

A ripple, 
A rod and fly— "He's very sly." 
"Be careful V 

A sudden dash, a little splash — 

"Don't strand him I" 
A turn, a bout, a splendid trout — 

"Now ! land him I" 

Three hungry men, a frying-pan 

Capacious ; 
A crispy brown, no such in town — 

Delicious ! 



A THREE-POUND TROUT. 

' I 'HE pool was broad, and cool, and deep ; 

And on its surface shifting 
Were specks of foam, and twigs, and leaves, 
Around an eddy drifting. 

The alders on the further side 

Hung low upon the water ; 
And just above o^er rocks and logs 

It foamed, then rushed with laughter. 

With slender rod and silken line. 

And hackle gray for leader, 
I crept along with gentle tread, 

So watchful and so eager. 

I took my stand. Back went the rod. 

I held it firm and steady; 
And then I cast. The hackle gray 

Skipped lightly o'er the eddy. 

A sudden rush, a splash, a turn — 

The water foaming, boiling. 
"Click ! click !" the line went spinning out. 

"Now, steady ! For he's toiling." 

Up toward the rocks he rushes wild. 

He turns again. "Be ready !" 
He slacks his speed, and, pulling hard, 

He circles round the eddy. 



And now a stubborn course he takes. 

No matter how I coax him, 
He will not move; but there he stays. 

In vain I try to hoax him. 

Now quick as thought he leaps in air. 
And, scattering spray around him, 

He shakes himself with all his might. 
In vain; the line has bound him. 

He darts to right, he darts to left, 

He sets the reel a-spinning; 
But still the silken cord holds on — 

The fisherman is winning. 

An hour has past; his force is spent. 

In vain has he contended. 
"That landing-net ! Be careful now V* 

"There ! Lift him out !" 'Tis ended. 

Three pounds two ounces and a half 

He weighed. We dressed and cooked him; 

But none who ate knew such delight 
As I, the one who hooked him. 



I GO A-HUNTING. 

((OuTOc; -^v yiytxq xuvyj^o^ svavTt'ov Kupt'ou)). 

— Genesis x, 9. 

npWO men with guns upon the downs, 
• A setter, 

A low morass, with tangled grass — 

None better. 
A quaiFs shrill cry, "We're coming nigh/' 

"Be ready !" 
"Let out the dog ! Jump o'er the bog !" 

"Now! Steady!" 
A brace of birds, a flow of words 

At supper; 
And birds will come and birds will go 

Forever. 



TROUTING. 

r^ ENTLY ! 

He is wary, 
Alwa3^s looking out. 

"Slowly ! 

Or you'll lose your trout." 

"Slyly V 
Cast your fly 
Above that eddy. 

"Quickly ! 
You'll have him ! Steady !' 

Safely 
Into the net 
At last he has come. 

Jolly! 
O'er the meadows home. 



LIFE. 

'Ev TTlJTSt ^W Xfl TOU UtOU TOU 0£OU. — GaL. 11^20. 

T IFE is not living 

Just for to-day; 
Life is not dreaming 
All the short way. 

To live is to do 

What must be done ; 
To work and be true. 

For work is soon done. 

^Tis living for others, 

To lighten their load ; 
'Tis helping your brothers 

And trusting in God. 



THE FISHING PARSON. 

T N a quiet village, far away, 

The pulpit was vacant many a day. 

Candidates came from far and near, 
Every Sabbath for nearly a year. 

Some were too awkward ; some preached with ease ; 
But no one was able them all to please. 

At length there came from a distant place 
A man of unusual power and grace. 

His frame was strong and his eye was clear, 
And all were pleased who came to hear. 

" 'This is our man !" said the elders all, 
And old and young united to call. 

The call was accepted and early in May 

The new parson came, with his household, to stay ; 

But after the toil of settling down 

In his pleasant home in the little town 

The parson was one day seen to stroll 
Across the street, with basket and pole. 



And take his way, o'er field and brake. 
To a rip'ling stream that entered the lake 

Just below the town. "What does it mean?" 
Asked the gossips and all who had seen. 

''A fishing parson!" exclaimed the men. 
"How could we so deceived have been?" 

The spinsters said : "'Twas a shame and sin" — 
"A parson to be engaging in 

Such worldly sports !" Twas late in the day 
When the parson took his homeward way, 

With well-filled basket and, better still, 
A glowing cheek and a healthful thrill. 

Caused by the blood that flowed through his veins 
As torrents flow after summer rains. 

Some said, with boldness : "They never more 
Could respect and love him as before." 

**A fishing parson! Who ever heard 
Of a fishing man preaching the Word ?" 

Thus spake the elders and deacons and all, 
And before them at once the parson they call. 

"A painful duty," the eldest said, 
"Devolves on us," and he shook his head 



10 



In a serious way. "Never before, 
For eight and seventy years or more, 

"Have we as a church been called upon 

To reprove our pastor for what he has done. 



You went a-fishing the other day ! 
We think it unseemly in every way. 



" 'Twill injure the cause with the young and the 

gay. 
'Tis scandalous ! What have you to say ?" 

A smile came over the parson's face, 

As he rose to respond, with becoming grace. 

He spake of Peter and his brethren three, 
Who once were fishermen on Galilee. 

"These were the men that the Master chose 
To carry his gospel to friends and foes." 

He spake of Bethune and he spake of Todd — 
''Fishing parsons T but men of God. 

"Fishing parsons !" aye ; but better men 
To preach the Word and wield the pen 

The Church has not known for many a day. 
They loved to preach, they loved to pray ; 

Nor their Lord the less because as well 
They loved the mountain-stream and dell. 



11 



"And as for myself I can boldly say 
I preach the better from day to day, 

"For the strength I gain in my walks about, 
While casting my fly for the speckled trout. 

"And when in the forest, alone, oppressed, 
God speaks to me and I am blest." 

No more was said; but as time rolled on 
The pews of the church filled, one by one. 

And as never before, from far and near 
The people flocked to the church to hear 

"The fishing parson!" for so he was known 
By boys and girls and men full-grown. 

And at length the meeting-house, which before 
Had held them all, with room for more. 

Became so crowded that 'ere the Fall 
An effort was set on foot by all 

To build a new house, with ample room 
For all the people who wished to come. 

And though the years rolled swiftly by 
The fire still glowed in the parson's eye; 

And he often said, in his pleasant way. 
As he labored on from day to day. 



That his power to work with a steady plod 
Was due to his love of the basket and rod. 

The parson lived long, and rejoiced to think 
Of the souls that were saved from Ruin's brink. 

True fisher of men! he had tried to be — 
As faithful as those of Galilee. 

'Twas at eighty and three, and preaching still, 
And serving his Master with heart and will. 

That the welcome summons at last was sent 
To call him home from banishment. 

And this they cut on his tombstone deep. 
When he at last had "fallen on sleep" : 

"Here lieth the fishing 'parson!" and then 
''His Master made him a fisher of men" 



13 



A TKOUTING IDYL. 

A LINE, 

A hook, 

A rod, 

A brook, 
A man absorbed in fishing. 

A cast, 

A bite. 

"A trout?'' 

"You're right ! 
For this I have been wishing." 

In camp 

To lie. 

With trout 

To fry. 
Farewell to cares and sadness ! 

No care. 

No strife 

In such 

A life. 
What health and rest and gladness 

14 



Then come 

With me. 

Away 

We^l flee, 
And spend a month together. 

By stream 

And lake 

Sly trout 

We^l take. 
And sleep in stormy weather. 



15 



WELL-DOING. 

•yniNK the good, 

And not the clever; 
Thoughts are seeds 

That grow; forever 
Bearing richest fruit in life. 
Such alone can make 
The thinker 
Strong to conquer in the strife. 

Love the good, 

And not the clever. 
Noble men ! 

The world can never 
Cease to praise the good they've done. 
They alone the true 
Who gather 
Harvests which their deeds have won. 

Do the good. 

And not the clever, 
Fill they life 

With true endeavor; 
Strive to be the noblest man. 
Not what others do; 
But rather 
Do the very best you can. 



16 



DEATH. 

"pNEATH is not ceasing 

Ever to be. 
Death is not sleeping 
Eternally. 

To die is beginning 

Keally to be. 
Freed from all sinning 

Immortally. 

'Tis passing from darkness 

Into the light; 
Just putting off weakness, 

Putting on might. 



17 



THE LIAR IN WEIGHT. 

X-JE had fished in all waters for bass and for 

trout, 
On stream and on lake the country throughout; 

He had fished with a fly ; 

He had fished with a bait ; 
But alas ! for his fame, he's a liar in weight. 

There are liars in numbers and liars in size, 
Who talk, in a way that seems wonderful wise. 

Of the things they have done ; 

But what they relate 
Is but tame when compared with this liar in 
weight. 

He had never caught small fish, this liar in weight ; 
The trout are all large ones that nibble his bait ; 

He resents with disdain. 

And almost with hate. 
Such small accusations — this liar in weight. 

Three-pounders were common, four-pounders not 

rare; 
And he'd tell, in a way to make a man stare. 

Of a ten-pounder, once, 

In a northeastern state, 
That he captured alone — this liar in weight. 



18 



To compete with this liar, when once he begins, 
Is out of the question, for he always wins. 

The best competition. 

Either early or late. 
Is nowhere compared with this liar in weight. 

The liar in numbers may catch the most trout. 
Or the liar in place know the best place about ; 

But when you begin 

About size to relate, 
You're left in the shade by this liar in weight. 



19 



"SPECKLED BEAUTIES." 

A /TID wealth of bloom. 

When sweet perfume 
On every breeze is blowing; 

And farmer-boys, 

With shout and noise 
The early crops are sowing; 

And whistling quail 

Down in the swale 
At day-dawn shrilly calling — 

Through orchards gay 

At break of day, 
'Mid apple-blossoms falling; 

Through dewy grass. 

And low morass. 
Where trout-brook gently floweth, 

With rod and fly. 

And spirit high. 
The happy angler goeth. 

From morn till night. 

So deft and light. 
He whips the pool and eddy, 

Now in — now out. 

He plays his trout, 
With cunning hand and steady. 

gentle art ! 

So dear to heart. 
When worn with cares and duties, 

Just for a day 

To steal away 
And cast for speckled beauties. 

20 



"WELL DONE !" 

'Bene, serve hone et fidelis." — Matt, xxv^ 21. 

"NJOT what you say, 
Or wish or hope, 
While through the darkness 

Here you grope ; 
But what you do 

And what you are 
In heart, and thought 
And character — 
This only makes you great; 

And this, 
If clothed in Jesus's righteousness. 
Will open Heaven's gate. 

Sell all, and buy 

This precious gem, 
And wear it as 

A diadem. 
A heart that's clean, 
A mind that's pure 
Will prompt to deeds 
Which shall endure. 
So God will own you as his son, 

And say 
To you, when ends life's little day: 
"Well done !" my child, "Well done !" 



21 



THE FISHERMAN. 



T 



'HE fisherman! 
The fisherman! 
Ah ! hear him shout and sing ! 
His heart is gay, 
As now to-day. 
He greets the opening Spring. 

"Ho ! ho ! for trout !" 
Oh, hear him shout ! 

Equipped with rod and line, 
He wades the brook 
And casts his hook 

For speckled trout so fine. 

He^s left his care 

Behind him there. 
Within the dusty town, 

To roam about 

And in and out 
Where alder brooks wind down. 

Oh, what delight, 

From morn till night, 
The fisherman doth find ! 

They only know. 

Who with him go 
And leave their care behind. 



22 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

T laughed and tried to quench my grief, 

In mirth I sought to find relief, 
My faith was naught but unbelief; 

To laugh — 
Was but to mock my sorrow. 

I wept because my grief was great, 
I felt its load— a mighty weight. 

heart so crushed and desolate ! 

To weep — 
Was but to soothe my sorrow. 

1 prayed for help in agony, 
To Him who hung on Calvary, 

He heard and quickly answered me! 

To pray — 
This only healed my sorrow. 



23 



WORDS AND DEEDS. 

npHEY do the least 

Who talk the most; 
Whose good designs 
Are all their boasts; 
For words are dew. 

They do the most 
Whose lives possess 

The sterling stamp 
Of righteousness ; 

For deeds are true. 

And if the heart 

Be pure and good 
The life will be 

Just what it should — 
Not dew but true. 



24 



"GO WORK TO-DAY." 

^ work to-day r' the Master saith. 

Waste not thy time repining ! 
Fill every hour with earnest deeds. 
While bright the sun is shining. 

What though ye do not see the fruit, 

Yet still continue sowing; 
For night and day — asleep, awake — 

The grain is ever growing. 

To-morrow's work may not be yours. 
Nor yours the joy of reaping. 

"Go work to-day/' and leave the seed 
Safe in the Master's keeping. 

That seed shall to the harvest come. 
Though you in death are sleeping. 

Others shall reap what you have sown. 
Work on, and cease thy weeping! 



25 



PEACE. 

THE QUIET HOUK IN THE WOODS. 

T sought for peace and did not rest; 
But sought it east and sought it west. 
I searched with all my might. 
I sought as one who seeks for gold: 
In tropic heat^ in arctic cold; 
And longed both day — and night 
For peace. 

But when at last, in hopeless grief, 
I turned to Christ to find relief, 

And ceased to look abroad, 
I found in Him my righteousness ; 
He with His peace my soul did bless; 

And now I walk with God 
In peace. 



26 



SATISFIED. 

"My people shall be satisfied with my goodness, 
saith the Lord." — Jere. 31 : 14. 

'Ky4"Y people shall be satisfied." 

This is His word to me 

While in the llesh. 
Each day He doth my soul refresh. 

I need not wait the race to run. 

If He abide in me 

From sun to sun. 
And I in Him, — 'tis Heaven begun ! 

Not more can I be satisfied. 

E'en though I stand complete 
Before His throne, 

And know He owns me as His own. 



27 



MEMORIES. 

T^ID you ever stand in a clover field 

While the bees were busy about your feet, 
And the air was heavy with rich perfume 
Of the purple blossoms fresh and sweet? 
For the bees they work 

While the Summers last; 
And the clover blossoms 
Fade so fast. 

Did you ever Avander in sunny June. 

With your basket and rod, by an Alder brook; 
And cast your fly for the gamiest fish 
That was ever taken with line and hook? 
For trout are wary 

And timid and shy ; 
But you can lure them 
With a fly. 

Did you ever live in an open camp, 

For days and weeks by a forest stream, 
Floating for deer where the lilies grow, 
Or sleeping at night without a dream? 
For the nearer one gets 

To Nature's dear breast. 
The greater the joy 
And the rest. 



28 



Did you ever climb a mountain high, 

And sit in the silence that dwelleth there, 
Above the forest and under the sky, 
Alone with yourself in the upper air? 
For the mountains lift 

The spirit of man 
Near to the source where 
Life began. 

Did you ever stand in the city street, 

As its living stream went pouring by, 
And long for the fields and Alder brooks. 
The open camp, and the mountain high? 
For memories live 

And can never die; 
Live, when in the grave 
We shall lie. 

If Nature and you are strangers still. 
And her language you cannot read. 
Then your eyes are blind, and can never see 
The treasure she holds for human need. 
For Nature and you 

In love must be 
Before her beauty 
You can see. 



29 



THE TROUT-ROD ON THE WALL. 

'"PHIS slender rod of mine; 
This delicate silk line, 
And the creel; 
This landing net, these flies 
Of every shape and size; 
With the reel. 

Now hanging on the wall, 
Such memories recall 

Of the past; 
That I live them o'er again, 
And rejoice as I did when 

1 made a cast. 

I am once more a boy — 
I feel a thrill of joy 

At the sight 
Of the sparkling mountain brook 
Where I cast the tempting hook; 

Stepping light. 

I can see the shady pool, 
Underneath the alders cool — 

Bending o'er. 
Specks of foam about an eddy, 
Circling round with motion steady 

To the shore. 



30 



Now I see the beauty rise, 
As the artificial flies 

Strike the pool. 
I can hear the water boil, 
And the crazy reel uncoil 

From the spool. 

Ah ! he^s out upon the bank ! 
And the specks upon his flank — 

How they shine ! 
! none but anglers know 
Why my eyes with tears overflow, 
As I think of days gone by, 
Of the rod, and reel, and fly. 

And the line. 



31 



KEST. 

"For ye are not as yet come to the rest and to 
the inheritance which the Lord your God giveth 
you."— Deut. 12: 9. 

A FTER the work of the day, 
After the toil doth cease 
Cometh the rest and the joy 
Of sleep — sweet balm of peace! 

After the struggle with sin. 
After the conflict and strife, 
Cometh the joy of Heaven — 
The rest of endless life. 



32 



LOST 

/^N through the woods with reckless pace — 
On, over rocks — through bogs and streams; 

With glaring eyes, and palid face — 

A demon — not a man — he seems. 

"Oh, God ! Fm lost ! whence do I roam !" 
"Oh, children ! wife ! my home ! my home ! 

Around the blazing cottage fire 

Cluster a group of children bright, 

Watching in silence for their sire^ 

Far on into the frosty night. 

"'Oh, mother ! why does father wait ?" 
"Why does he stay from home so late?" 

A heap of bones and tattered shreds 
Of clothing, 'neath the leaves and mould, 
A hunter finds, as light he treads. 
Years after, through the forest old. 

Oh, children ! wife ! Oh hearts that yearn ! 

Thy lost will never more return. 



83 



THE WOODS. 

"pROM City's din — from roar and rush 

Of traffic; from the busy mart 
Of trade, with all its strain, I to 
The woods repair ; and there, beneath 
The cool shade of dim old forest, 
Find rest and peace for which I long. 
The air, rich with perfume of pine 
And balsam, is heavy laden. 
The sluggish blood new life regains; 
And to the weary soul there comes 
A peace and calm, so sweet and blessed, 
The joy of which, like the Gospel 
Of God's dear Son, no one can know 
Save those who taste its blessedness. 



84 



TROUTING WITH A FLY. 



A 



slender rod, 
A tiny fly, 

A skillful hand, 

And movement sly — 

A splash — a strike, 

A clicking reel. 

The rod as though 

Damascus steel. 

Bends and springs — 

He's firmly caught — 

"Now give him line. 

And hold him taut ! 

What a beauty ! 

See him spin ! 

That landing net? 

Now ! reel him in !" 
Do you know what this means, do you? 
If not, then let me assure you, 

Casting a fly 

For speckled trout 
Affords the best and choicest fun. 
That man from nature ever won. 



35 



A TROUTING PICTUEE. 

A FOREST, dense with spruce and pine, 

A fisherman with pole and line: 
And winding down between the hills 
A mountain brook with laughing song 
Hurries and rushes swift along 
Fed now and tlien with trickling rills. 

Up through the openings, here and there 
The sky so bright and blue and fair 
Delights the eye. How sweet the sight ! 
Above, around, on every hand 

The giant trees like sentinels stand. 
Their arms all reaching up to light. 

Along the bank, on either side. 
Scattering perfumes far and wide 
Bright forest flowers gleam on the sod, 
While farther back along the hill. 
The purple asters blooming still, — 
And back of all, the golden-rod. 

Here, in the balmy August days. 

With sky undimmed by smoke or haze. 

Wanders the fisherman at will. 

And as he casts his wary fly 
Upon the water, quick or sly. 
His heart with life and joy doth thrill. 



36 



TAKE DOWN THE ROD. 

T^AKE down the rod, unreel the line. 

Examine creel and hook, 
For Summer days have come again, 

And now for mountain brook ! 
The winter's snow and ice are gone, 

The fields are dressed in green; 
And cowslips sweet and daffodils. 

Along the banks are seen. 

The young lambs in the pastures 

Are playing round the sheep. 
Once more upon the orchard slopes 

The blossoms wake from sleep; 
The fragrant air that sweeps the plain. 

Is redolent of spring; 
And in the woods and by the streams, 

Robins and Blue-birds sing. 

Come! leave awhile the toil and care 

That vex and try the mind. 
Take now the trusty rod and line. 

And rest, in angling find. 
The wary trout in pool and riff. 

Are foraging for flies; 
They wait the Angler's tempting cast — 

They're ready now to rise. 



37 



0! MYSTERY OF LIFE AND DEATH! 

"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt re- 
turn."— Gen. 3 : 19. 

"CEOM God and Mother Earth I came, 
To live and breathe life\s little day, 
God's vital breath — the living flame — 
United with earth's cumbrous clay. 

I lie upon my Mother's breast, 
And thing of God and think of man: 
Unceasingly I long for rest 
E'en here within this little span. 

I rise and tread my Mother's breast — 
I rise to work for God and man ! 
And thus alone I find my rest — 
In serving God by serving man. 

When laid beneath my Mother's breast 
Within the earth from whence I came. 
The cumbrous clay shall be at rest — 
Myself with God — a living flame. 

0, mystery of life and death ! 

0, Mother earth ! 0, Father God ! 

Am I not more than dust and breath? — 

Immortal through th' Eternal Word! 



38 



THE BOBOLINK. 

T WALKED the street of the city, 

The day was mild and fair, 
'Twas early June, and a brightness 
Filled heart and sky and air. 

The street was dry and dusty 

Without a shrub or a shade, 

There was naught to remind of the country, 

With its meadows and wood and glade. 

But as I walked slowly onward. 
Not thinking of what I heard. 
There rippled from out an open door. 
The thrilling song of a bird. 

I stopped, ^twas the song of a Bobolink ! 
And there, in the city street, 
Methought I could smell the clover 
And the breath of the meadows sweet. 

song! so musical — so thrilling — 
song ! so rippling sweet ! 
How dear thou art Bobolink ! 
Thy meadow song we greet. 



39 



THE TROUT BROOKS ARE CALLING. 

'T'HE Trout Brooks are calling, 

Away, ! away ! 
The blossoms are falling, 

'Tis May, ! ^Tis May ! 
The Wild Birds are singing, 

"We're here, ! we're here !" 
The forests are ringing 

With gladness and cheer, 
The Wild Flowers are blooming, 

Along the cool brook, 
The warm air perfuming 

In each cozy nook. 
The Sly trout are jumping 

In eddy and pool, 
(My old heart is thumping — 

'Tis hard to keep cool ! ) 
! cast the fly lightly 

By alder and brake. 
And hold the rod tightly. 

The "beauties" to take, 
The Trout Brooks are calling, 

! heed them to-day I 
Where blossoms are falling 

Away, ! away ! 



40 



A TROUTING SONG. 

T^HE days they are growing: the west wind is 
blowing. 
The week will be fine, and the sport will be 
sweet. 
For to=morrow we're going where trout brooks are 
flowing, 
Then call us up early the sunrise to greet. 
Our tackle is ready. We'll hold the rod steady 

As we cast the deft fly on the foam covered pool : 
For the trout they are jumping. "Don't you hear 
my heart thumping ?" 
For I've lured him and hooked him ; — 'Tis hard 
to keep cool ! 

Then hurrah for the mountain ! Hurrah for 
the fountain ! 
And hurrah for the Angler so happy and 
free ! 
His cares are behind him; the blues cannot 
find him; 
He's as joyous and gay as the bird on the 
lea. 



41 



The cool stream he's wading, his basket he's lading 
With the bright speckled beauties from out the 
deep pool. 
Away with all sadness! His heart thrills with 
gladness, 
And he shouts like a boy who is just out of 
school. 
'^^Step lightly ! Be steady ! That foam covered eddy 

Is the home of a beauty just ready to rise ! 
Cast lightly a hackle ; — look out for your tackle ! 
You've hooked him at last — a magnificent 
prize !" 

Then hurrah for the mountain etc. 

The years they are going, like the stream that is 
flowing ; 
And soon they'll be gone, and the trout-rod laid 
by. 
So let us be merry, and let us be cheery. 

And cast while we may the deft little fly ! 
What joys have been ours, mid sunshine and 
showers. 
By lake and by stream in days that are past. 
who could forget them ! who would regret 
them ! 
Those days — they shall live while memories last ! 
Then hurrah for the mountain etc. 



42 



A FISHERMAN^S SCALES. 

'T^HERE came one day to a happy home, 

The precious gift of a baby-boy; 
And the mother's heart was full to the brim- 
And overflowing — with mother joy. 

They borrowed the scales of a fisherman, 
(And though it "very fishy" sounds,) 

When placed on the scales of the fisherman, 
The dear baby weighed thirty-six pounds. 



43 



THE ANGLER^S LONGING. 

T'VE cast my hook for speckled trout, 

Since childhood's sunny days 
I've wandered up and down the land 

In unfrequented ways; 
I've fished in river, lake and stream, 

With chub and worm and fly; 
And now, that I'm growing old 

'Tis hard to say '"good-by." 

0, happy, happy days of youth, 

And manhood's strength and prime; 
They linger in my memory still. 

Like some familiar rhyme. 
Alone with nature I have had 

Joys such as none can know 
Save those who love the streams and woods 

As nothing else below. 

And now, before the message comes 

To summon me away. 
One final visit would I make 

Where leap the trout to-day; 
There lightly cast once more the fly 

And see the beauties rise. 
To gladden this old heart of mine 

And kindle these old eyes. 



44 



APPENDIX. 

TZAAK WALTON the famous author of the im- 
mortal book ''The Compleat Angler' was born 
at Stafford in August 1593. Though much of his 
life was spent in London^ his body was buried 
beneath the huge Cathedral at Winchester. This 
vast Minster was completed and consecrated July 
15, 1093. It is said to be the second largest 
Church in Europe, being 556 feet in length. It is 
of vast proportions. The great columns of its nave 
are more than 100 feet feet in height. Beneath its 
floor are the ashes of ancient kings and queens, 
nobles and poets, and bishops, heroes and states- 
men. 

Upon a slab in the floor, surrounded by this il- 
lustrious company of the great men and women 
of England, the following inscription may be 
found : 

Here resteth the body of 

Mr. Izaak Walton, 
Who died the I5th of December, 1683. 

Alas ! Hee's gone before. 
Gone, to return noe more, 

Our panting Breasts aspire 
After their aged Sire, 

Whose well-spent life did last 
Full ninety Years, and past. 

45 



But now he hath begun 
That which will nere be done, 

Crowned with eternal Blisse, 
We wish our Souls with his. 

Votis modestis sic ferunt liberi. 
("Thus with modest vows his children wept.") 

Walton never claimed to be an expert ily fisher- 
man: but during the last forty years of his life 
his passion for the "gentle art" was the result of 
his skill in the use of the live worm, the frog, and 
the grasshopper. Had he lived in modern times he 
no doubt would have been expert in the use of the 
fly-rod. 

The following recently discovered information 
with regard to Izaak Walton is copied from a Lon- 
don paper of date March 1920 : 

"It was known that Izaak Walton died in Winchester 
Close — the house of his son-in-law. Dr. Hawkins — but it 
was not known till a recent discovery made by Canon 
John Vaughan of Winchester Cathedral, which was Dr. 
Hawkins' house. It was in this house that the famous 
author of the "Compleat Angler" lived his last seven 
years. There he made his will and there he died. He 
was buried in the south transept of the Cathedral. 

"At the time of his daughter's marriage," says Canon 
Vaughan, in the Cornhill Magazine "Izaak Walton was 
in his eighty-fourth year; but he had still some seven 
years (1676 — 1683) to live, and we may think of him as 
spending this closing time — 

'Serene and bright, 

And calm as is a Lapland night,' 

with his daughter and Dr. Hawkins, partly in the house 

46 



up Dome Alley in Winchester Close, and partly in the 
old rectory at Droxford. 

On August 9th, 1683, Izaak Walton began to make 
his will, being, he says, "This present day in the nine- 
tyeth year of my age, and in perfect memory, for which 
praysed be God." The will was clearly made in the 
Close, and not at Droxford, for he speaks of himself as 
"I, Izaak Walton, the elder, of Winchester." 

"In very affectionate terms does the old man mention 
his 'sonne-in-law. Dr. Hawkins, whom,' he says, 'I love 
as my owne sonn.' In addition to substantial property, 
he leaves to him and to 'my daughter, his wife,' a num- 
ber of little mementoes, including a ring each, with these 
words — 'Love my memory. I. W. obiit — ' To Dr. Haw- 
kins he also gives 'Dr. Donne's Sermons'." 

"With regard to his burial he writes, *I desire my 
buriall may be neare the place of my death and free 
from any ostentation or charge, but privately'." 



47 



